A homeless life in a shapeless film. Oren Moverman is good at imitating the psyche of his characters in the form of his films - good, but not great. It's the dislocation engendered from his choice of protagonist, and his dedication to the purity of his scheme on a technical level. Emotionally, Moverman is more romantic than he may like to admit, which imbues Time Out of Mind with a strange sensation of hope unfulfilled. We're led to hope for satisfaction that never arrives, a purpose to the obscurity of Moverman's technique, some sort of solidity somewhere within his creation. His commitment to his cause is admirable, and no doubt it's crafted with sensitivity and artistic astuteness, but it makes Time Out of Mind a somewhat monotonous experience. Not that it drags - in fact, most of the film's finest moments occur later on, into the second hour, as we acclimatise to the directorial approach. Moverman's insight, and the verisimilitude he seeks to achieve (and largely does) sustain the film, and equally incisive performances from a cast of familiar faces, proving their worth with impressively naturalistic turns, have a similarly enlivening effect. The film's wandering structure may be central to the aforementioned verisimilitude, but as persuasive a representation of real life can be created without such overpowering adherence to stylistic strictures, without sacrificing the sense of immediacy that characterises Time Out of Mind. A little more indulgence on the filmmaker's side might give the viewer a little more to indulge in too.